The First Day of the Rest of Your Life
by eyeslikewildflowers
Summary: Carol is wounded after the battle in Alexandria at the end of season 7, and begrudgingly allows Daryl to stay at her creepy little house.
1. Chapter 1

This is my take on what I'd like to see in the season 8 premiere. Very long build up but we WILL get to sexytimes in either chapter 4 or 5, I promise. Hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think!

* * *

It was over. Adrenaline still coursed through Daryl's body as he stood shaking and surveying the damage done, but it was over. Negan and the Saviours had fled, and as far as he could tell, not many Alexandrians had been killed or badly injured. Rick startled him by coming up behind him and clapping him on the back. They exchanged nods and looks of relief, though there was a dark undertone in the understanding that passed wordlessly between them. The battle was won, but the war was far from over.

Daryl's chest swelled when he caught a glimpse of Carol. She had, once again, showed up just in time to save the rest of them, this time with the entire Kingdom following her. She was bent at the waist with her hands on her knees, apparently relieved to catch her breath. He kept his eyes trained in her direction while he moved through the wreckage looking for anyone wounded or dead. He started every time she moved into his field of vision, still not used to the idea that she was there. Alive. Willing to fight.

He felt a small hand on his shoulder as he bent down to pluck an arrow from the skull of a dead Saviour. He looked up to find Carol, pale and a little shaky but with the same triumphant, satisfied look on her face as Rick. Daryl stood up and wiped the arrow off, and Carol rested her hand on his back while she caught her breath. Daryl nodded and she returned it. They didn't say anything, they didn't have to. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and they stood side by side, chests still heaving with adrenaline, for a moment of blessed calm. Daryl could feel himself coming down from his high and exhaustion began to creep over him. Carol, too, was apparently feeling the same, as she leaned further into his side. Daryl stumbled a little and adjusted his grip, surprised by how heavily she was leaning on him, then his surprise gave way to cold fear when he realized she wasn't leaning into him for comfort. Her legs were giving out and she was collapsing.

He let out a strangled yelp and gripped her under the arms just before she slumped to the ground. Her head lolled to the side and her skin was a ghostly shade of white that made his stomach turn. Something was really wrong. No, he thought, they couldn't have come this far...

That's when he saw it: the steadily spreading bloodstain that was coming from a wound on her side just above her hip.

"CAROL!" he heard himself cry, though the sound seemed far away and disembodied. "No, Carol, no, no, no, c'mon, no, no…"

He looked around in a panic and was horrified to find no one rushing to his aid, hardly anyone taking notice at all. Everyone was preoccupied with their own injuries or with helping others, but Daryl couldn't understand why the world wasn't stopping to help her. He was no stranger to blood and gore, but seeing it come from Carol was making his stomach heave. He let his mind go blank as his hunting and survival instincts took over and he cinched the sleeves of his jacket around her waist and hoisted her up into his arms. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Jerry took notice and came rushing towards them. Daryl barked at him to find a truck, a cart, anything to get Carol back to the doctors at the Kingdom. Jerry tried to say something to him but Daryl couldn't focus on anything but the low hum that had obscured his hearing and the dull pounding in his head. He refused to believe that after everything they'd been through, after all of the close calls and near misses and separations and reunions that Carol… that she might…

There was a flurry of activity as someone wrestled her from his arms and tossed her onto the back of a truck along with the other injured people, some conscious but most not. He found himself getting jostled out of the way and could do nothing but stand by helplessly as the truck unceremoniously drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

The light was too bright. It seeped through Carol's eyelids and roused her, though she was horrified to find that she could hardly move. Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring at a familiar-looking ceiling, and as she whipped her head to the side she felt another familiar sharp pinch in the back of her hand. The blurry room came into focus and she realized she was lying in the same hospital room in the Kingdom she had woken up in once before, same beaten up IV pole and everything. Carol furrowed her brow and tried to ignore the dull pounding in her head as she tried to piece together what she knew.

Carol tried to sit up but the motion made her head spin and a sharp pain in her side made her gasp aloud. No, she remembered, it had all been real. She had been injured during the fight, though the details of it and how she came to be back in the Kingdom were still unclear. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and for the first time, noticed a curled up figure squished haphazardly on three lined up chairs. It had moved when she gasped, and it took her a moment to register what she was seeing.

Daryl sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. They were puffy and ringed by tired bags, his clothing was disheveled and his hair was a mess.

"You're awake," he croaked with a rare smile.

She tried to ask what was going on, but all she got out was a raspy "W-what?"

"Shh," he reassured her, "You'll be alright." He then stood up and opening the door before bellowing down the hallway, "HEY! SHE'S AWAKE!" so loud it made her jump.

Daryl apologized softly and impulsively reached out to smooth back the damp hair from her forehead. She could tell he was consumed with nervous energy, and he filled the empty space between them by trying to awkwardly fluff her pillows or adjust her sheets. Carol just wanted to know what was going on, but was too weak to protest. When the doctor arrived, looking haggard and tired and ominously wearing blood-spattered scrubs, Daryl grilled her for information on Carol's condition. Carol barely said two words and just focused on making sense of what they were saying. _Blood loss, infection, dehydration_. She raised her eyebrows when the doctor mentioned she had been hit by shrapnel, not directly by a bullet like she had thought.

"Likely what saved you. It missed your internal organs. Because it was shrapnel, however, it made you more susceptible to an infection. You're lucky to be alive. Well…" the doctor said in a tired voice, glancing around the dingy room and down at her own bloodstained scrubs, "In a manner of speaking, anyway."

"She's alright, ain't she?" Daryl pressed her.

The doctor sighed again and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Put simply, yes. She'll most likely be fine. Under any… _normal_ circumstances, I'd like to keep her here and hooked up to an IV for at least a few more days, but nothing about anything is normal anymore. She's out of the danger zone and we need the bed," she finished bluntly.

Carol nodded. She needed to get out of that depressing room that looked more like the inside of a Soviet prison than a hospital.

"You're officially discharged, then," the doctor said with a flourish of her wrist. Just before she left, she peered around the half-closed door at Daryl. "Watch out for her for a little while, though. Or get someone to. She shouldn't be on her own. And you remember what I said about the bandages?"

Daryl nodded as she hurried away and Carol rolled her eyes.

"They think I'm some fragile - _ahhh_ ," she groaned as she tried to sit up too fast and was overcome with a wave of dizziness and pain in her side.

Daryl's mouth twitched at the corners.

"Slow," he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and prying her up gently by her shoulders. Carol tried to protest, but found it was easier to stay conscious if she just gave up and let him guide her. He pulled her jacket carefully around her shoulders and she was relieved to find she was mercifully still wearing her pants. He slung his crossbow and a pack over his back as he stood up, and she ignored his outstretched hand to struggle up off the bed herself. She only made it a few steps before stumbling and reaching for his arm.

"Carol," he said in a low, stern voice like he was talking to a child in a time out, "You don't gotta prove anything."

The defiance in her chest deflated. He was right, she needed help whether she liked it or not, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it aloud. Instead, she let him wrap his arm solidly around her waist and together they started the long walk home.

* * *

"No, I can walk," Carol grumbled. Her cottage was within sight, but she had already slowed down considerably. She leaned most of her body weight on Daryl as they slowly shuffled forward, and was obviously in much more pain than she was letting on.

"C'mon," he said quietly, hitching her waist up for the umpteenth time. "You wanted to walk and you did. You ain't gotta prove anything."

She stopped short with a gasp and clutched at her side, though her brow remained furrowed and set and she refused to acknowledge what he had said. Daryl stopped with her and sighed. They were less than a hundred yards from the house and Carol was acting like a stubborn child. He weighed his options, then bent down before she could stop him and scooped her up. She yelped and protested, trying weakly to fight her way out of his arms, but another pain in her side stopped her and she slumped, accepting defeat as he stepped over the gate without even bothering to unlatch it.

"Carol," he growled, before finally setting her down at the door and letting her open it. "You gotta quit thinkin' ya got something to prove to me. Or anyone. Everyone - everyone knows what you're capable of. But everyone needs a little help sometimes."

Carol didn't reply as she entered the house she had come to think of as hers, but the anger in her chest softened a little.

"Well," she said, turning to face him and settling her hands on her hips. "I don't need you to take care of me like I'm a child."

He opened his mouth but she held up her hand and continued before he could start. "But you can stay here for the night. We'll revisit things in the morning."

Daryl flopped down on the couch and she groaned as he kicked his dirty boots up onto the armrest.

"I'm gonna do what the doctor told me," he said with a shrug. "Watch out for ya. For a little while at least. 'Sides, I can't really go anywhere anyway - can't be at Hilltop, or the Kingdom, and 'specially not Alexandria." Carol regarded him with narrow eyes and he sighed. "Can ya just relax a little? I ain't tryin' to take over your life or nothin', alright?"

The lingering notes of hurt in his voice made her chest tighten. She had abandoned him twice now, though the most recent time had been intentional, and she flashbacked to his voice cracking when he had asked her why she had left. What was she going to do anyway, she thought. Force him out? Threaten him? Begrudgingly, she admitted to herself that it might actually be nice to at least have some company. Maybe. Someone she knew she could, for better or for worse, trust entirely.

"Well, don't get too comfortable," she warned. Her voice was softer, though, and her mouth twitched upwards slightly. "Just for the night."

Daryl returned her little smile and nodded.

"Just for the night," he said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

"Sorry, sorry," Daryl said quickly, drawing his hand back from her wound he had been re-dressing when Carol flinched and sucked in through her teeth.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "No, it's alright," she said with a grimace, "Just get it done".

Daryl worked as quickly as he could to disinfect her open skin and tie clean bandages around her waist. He hated it when he hurt her even though he knew it was unavoidable.

"Thanks," she grumbled as she pulled her sleep shirt over her head and settled back onto the pillows Daryl had arranged so she could sit up. He nodded and moved to the smaller injury on her knee that kept reopening no matter what he tried. The "just for the night" she had begrudgingly allowed him had turned into almost a week and counting. Daryl had noticed she'd gradually stopped bringing up phrases like "when you go back" and "when I'm on my own again", and he wasn't keen to reintroduce the topic. He knew that _she_ knew that having him around made things easier by keeping her off her feet while she recovered, and he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the companionship too.

"Your turn," she said when he had finished with her knee, sitting up gingerly and prodding his shoulder with her finger.

Daryl sighed and shrugged his denim shirt off his shoulders, dutifully handing her the meager med kit the Kingdom doctor had given them and turning away so she could dress his various wounds. Carol's hands worked deftly over his scars and scrapes, sanitizing the infected ones and bandaging as she did. Daryl closed his eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of her soft fingertips brushing over his back instead of the sting of the antiseptic, but he stiffened when she lingered over the half-healed scar that wrapped from his ribcage to his back. He knew the one, and he knew why she paused at it. It wasn't one of his old scars she was used to, and it wasn't brand new from the battle at Alexandria. It was healing the same as the bullet hole in his shoulder, received around that same time - when he was a prisoner at the Sanctuary.

Carol's eyes had been drawn to that particular scar every day she helped him with his bandages. She had been afraid to ask, afraid to know if it had something to do with Glenn and Abraham. She knew Daryl had been taken captive, but she hadn't asked further than that and he hadn't offered. He tensed and Carol felt his muscles stiffen as she traced its outline.

"What's this from?" she breathed after a long moment.

Daryl closed his eyes and swallowed.

"Got what I deserved," he said in a low voice after a pause. "Deserved worse than that, actually."

Carol finished dressing the last of his open wounds and gingerly rested her palm on his lower back. He wouldn't look at her, though he made no move to get up and leave. He simply stared off to the side where she could see his lower lip tremble. Carol had a knack of drawing things out of him no matter how hard he tried to keep things bottled up.

"Why?" she asked quietly. That was it, she thought. There was no going back. Her heart pounded in her throat and she tried to brace herself for whatever he was about to tell her.

"Glenn," he choked out between shaky breaths. "Glenn was _my_ fault. Abraham… we couldn't do anything. But Glenn…" he paused and shook his head.

Carol sat up further and drew her legs up so she could rest her chin on her knees. She reached for his shirt from the bed and gently pulled it onto his shoulders, noticing how his hands shook as he redid the buttons. She was quiet, letting him gain his composure, trusting that he would continue when he was ready. Daryl stole a glance at her and her heart shattered to see the absolute brokenness in his eyes before he turned away again.

Daryl took a deep breath and once he started, the words came tumbling out all at once.

She let him talk without interruption. Try as he did to keep his composure, his words soon gave way to tears as he described the horror as Negan punished Glenn for Daryl's outburst, being taken away and locked in a dark cell for days on end; no food, no light, and nothing to keep him company except for his own guilt.

"Keepin' me alive was worse than killin' me," he finished finally, chest still heaving with dry hiccoughs.

Carol had remained still and quiet throughout, wanting to offer some small comfort but too afraid to spook him. When he had run out of words to say and could do nothing but lean forward and rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, she reached out to softly rest her hand on his shoulder.

Daryl turned his head slightly to look at her through his shaggy hair and allowed her to slowly, gently pull him into a wordless embrace. His tired eyes drifted closed as she ran her fingers delicately over the back of his neck and he let himself sink into the sound of her heartbeat. She didn't tell him it wasn't his fault. She didn't tell him there was nothing he could have done. She didn't offer him empty words of absolution. Instead, she simply held him close and allowed him to let go of all the emotion he'd kept pent up for so long. His shoulders quaked as renewed dry sobs wracked through his body in waves, and Carol carefully leaned them both back until she was semi-sitting against the headboard and he was curled into her side, clutching her around the waist like Sophia used to when she was little and afraid of thunderstorms.

"M'sorry," Daryl muttered once he had caught his breath a little. He swiped the back of his hand under his nose and shook his head.

Carol frowned and brushed the hair back from his forehead with her fingertips.

"You don't have to apologize," she murmured, resting the side of her face against his forehead, "Not to me."

Daryl swallowed.

"When…" he began, but faltered for a moment. "When Negan… when we were all there on our knees… I thought I was gonna be the one he picked. I _hoped_ it would be me," he finished quietly.

He felt her tense, but she didn't stop stroking her fingers through his hair.

"I wanted it to be me 'cause then I'd know it weren't anyone else," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Daryl -"

"I thought those were my last seconds on this goddamned planet, but there was still one thing that sonofabitch couldn't beat outta me… you weren't there, didn't know where ya were, but I figured I could die happy enough knowing you wouldn't'a been the one on the end o' that bat."

Tears welled in Carol's eyes and she turned her head to press a featherlight kiss to his temple.

Daryl cleared his throat and continued. "An' when I got outta there and Morgan said you were gone again… I don't care if you wanna be alone or what, s'alright if you wanna kick me out, but I just gotta know that you're alright."

Carol took a sharp breath and tilted her head back in an effort to stop the traitorous tears from overflowing. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry for leaving, sorry that she wasn't there in the clearing no matter how glad he was that she wasn't, sorry that she abandoned them, sorry that she _had_ to, but all she could do was lean over to the bedside table and blow out the candle.

"I'm sorry," was all she could bring herself to choke out. She slid herself the rest of the way down the headboard, half-expecting Daryl to close up and leave and half-afraid that he wouldn't. Instead, though, Daryl shifted onto his side facing her and leaned his head on her shoulder. They lay side by side and silent in the darkness, their breaths slowly evening out until both of them drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Carol startled awake hours later in a cold sweat. She figured she'd been having a nightmare again, but for once the details were fuzzy and her terror had quickly dissipated once she'd woken up. Daryl was still curled into her side, and as much as she relished his body heat and even breaths on her skin, her back was beginning to ache. Still solidly asleep, Daryl responded to her shift by snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her tight into the crook of his body. His deep sigh as they relaxed tickled her ear and her lips curved into a sleepy smile. The last thing she was aware of before drifting off once again was their hands finding each other's in the dark, and his gentle squeeze accompanied with a low, contented snore.

* * *

He had gone hunting by the time she woke up in the morning, and they carried on with their day as usual. Still though, Carol could have sworn she caught him looking at her a little too long more than once that day.


End file.
